


Nice Kill

by therealaisabelle



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Infidelity, Italian Mafia, M/M, idk what to tag tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-08
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:34:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27458833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealaisabelle/pseuds/therealaisabelle
Summary: It’s always where you least expect it.
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Bokuto Koutarou, Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou, Bokuto Koutarou/Reader, Hinata Shouyou & Kageyama Tobio, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru, Oikawa Tooru/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 12





	Nice Kill

**Author's Note:**

> This is old...I just needed to get it out of the way 👁👄👁I’m sorry ??

_“It was in her plans.”_

Kotaro Bokuto had imagined his death many, many, many times. His occupation allowed for his creativity to run wild in that aspect.

Would it be one of his subordinates? A family member? A rival gang?

If it were a subordinate, they’d poison him.

 _Nerium oleander._ It was the flower associated with the Fukurodani Mafia. There was no symbolic meaning behind the flower itself, at least not to anyone on the outside. The assassin’s associated with the mafia group, however, were intimately aware of how the flower became associated with them.

The Don before Kotaro was a dick. It didn’t help that it was his father. He was sadistic piece of shit and Kotaro would always be grateful for the amazing women who raised him.

Originally, he had no intentions of taking over for his old man, but one night, when he was seventeen, he’d watched his father use his fifteen-year-old sister as a bargaining chip to appease a rival gang.

Kotaro couldn’t say for sure what had happened in the week that followed. He’d been trained from a young age (regardless of how reluctant he was to become the next Don) to become the next Don. He was a genius with a gun or sword before he could even do quadratic equations, ride a bike, play video games, make friends. In the week that followed his sister ‘moving out’, Kotaro simultaneously lost his mind and constructed a plan. If someone asked him right this minute what his plan was, he wouldn’t be able to tell them.

What he did know was that his grandmother had planted several oleander trees in the back garden and he also knew that it was poisonous. He had, according to his father’s right-hand man, made his father tea and invited himself into the man’s study under the guise of wanting to discuss a possible future as the next Don of the Fukurodani Mafia.

What a poetic guise it had been. His father had fallen violently ill afterwards and died before any doctor could explain to his family that he had been poisoned.

His mother had looked at him with something akin to pride when she’d found him in the garden the next afternoon smiling stupidly at the oleander trees.

“Do better Kou, make sure wherever he is, he isn’t proud of you.”

That was where the oleander came from. It wasn’t that his father’s subordinates didn’t know that Kotaro had killed him. They just didn’t care.

To reiterate. Daiki Bokuto was a fucking dick.

After that Fukurodani flourished in a way that many people thought only Kotaro would have been able to pull off.

The clink of ice against glass as it melted broke Kotaro’s revere and he adjusted his grip on the glass.

He tilted his head back and took in the picture of himself and his four siblings. It was one of two pictures he kept perched on his desk. He was the oldest of the four, the first boy out of three. They were born a year apart and though he was quite certain his little sister was no longer alive he liked to imagine she’d be proud of him for taking Fukurodani from where it was to where it is now.

Kotaro knew with a naïve amount of confidence that no living family member would be able to kill him.

Neither would a rival gang. They had alliances. As shaky as they may be, they were still alliances and he’d made friends with the Dons of neighboring rivals anyway.

He was in fact good friends with Tetsuro Kuroo, the Don of Nekoma had suffered a similar faith to Kotaro and at a young age was forced to eliminate the previous Don. They’d bonded over the trauma and their alliance was stronger than any other’s.

Karasuno on the other hand was a wild card. They were nothing like a regular Mafia. They were more like a group of vigilantes. Granted they were still a threat regardless of who or why they killed. Daichi Sawamura was a complex man. Outwardly he appeared to be mostly at ease about everything and when he’d shook both Tetsuro and his hand, Kotaro had felt like he’d worried for nothing.

Except two weeks later Tetsuro’s men fucked up and they’d incurred the wrath of Karasuno.

It wasn’t a blood bath. That was where the problem lay. Karasuno was unpredictable.

An assassin had showed up in Tetsuro’s bedroom within fifteen hours of the confirmation of death and, according to Tetsuro, requested the life of the man responsible.

Taketora Yamamoto’s body had been shipped to various businesses owned by Nekoma in perfect cubes within the week.

His head was shipped to Tetsuro with a handwritten letter by Daichi’s second in command and husband, Koushi Sawamura, suggesting that Karasuno was still willing to give the alliance a chance. Tetsuro had agreed immediately and since then both Fukurodani and Nekoma had been wary of them even if they proved to be trustworthy.

Kotaro could say without a single ounce of regret that he would do it all again though.

It was through the rash decisions of Tetsuro’s man that Kotaro had met, who he then considered to be the love of his life.

She was the lead investigator, young and fresh faced and obviously not briefed on the way the world worked when it came to the mafia and their relationship with the police.

Kotaro would never forget the way her eyes had flashed at him dangerously the first time he called her beautiful. Or the way she’d aimed her silenced pistol at him when he’d found himself at her apartment door, fist poised to knock two days later. Granted she didn’t let him in.

The first time they’d kissed he’d snuck into her apartment to admire her sleeping form. It wasn’t the first time he’d let himself in, but he’d slipped up and found himself brushing his fingers lightly across her cheeks. He was on his back a knife pressed against his throat and an arm against his chest, her legs on either side of his hips before he could take his next breath.

Kotaro knew then that he was an absolutely depraved man, because in the dark with only a sliver of moonlight slipping past her curtains to illuminate the blade of the knife, he realized he’d let her ride him just like this, knife and all. That had prompted him to sit up and in her moment of disorientation he’d brushed his lips against hers.

Kotaro chuckled out loud. His glass was abandoned on his desk as he ran a gloved palm over the mark left from where she’d sunk the knife into his shoulder that night.

He earned a quizzical look from his companion but ignored it.

Two weeks later he’d returned, unapologetic and demanded that she have dinner with him. Kotaro knew that it was against her better judgement as a member of the force to agree to his demand, but she had.

He’d fucked her in his Bentley Continental that night, her hands splayed across his windows as he slammed into her unforgivingly.

Six months later she’d resigned from the force and moved into his home. A six-hundred-thousand-dollar engagement ring on her finger and two babies growing inside her.

It was around that time he’d met Dr. Keiji Akaashi.

Though Kotaro did not regret meeting his wife. He also did not regret meeting Keiji.

The man was beautiful. In a way that made Kotaro’s chest constrict whenever he smiled or laughed or rolled his eyes or frowned or blinked. The man’s existence should have been illegal.

The first time he’d had a taste of Keiji was in the doctor’s office while his wife was giving birth to his children on the floor below them. After that he’d convinced the doctor to work for him.

He’d named his first born Keiji Bokuto as some sort of consolation to the man. A gift of sorts. He’d never be able to be his husband, but at least there _was_ a Keiji Bokuto. His wife had named their second son Shouyo Bokuto.

At the time Kotaro had no idea where the name came from.

Today though, he found out.

Kotaro glanced at his companion, he was a small man, he couldn’t be taller than five and a half feet. His hair was a red that Kotaro had never seen in his life. It shimmered like some sort of disco ball against the lights in his office.

Kotaro Bokuto had imagined his death many, many, many times.

What he had never considered was that it would be his wife.

It had been five years. She’d never show a single sign of discomfort. Never voiced her displeasure with anything he’d done or said.

In retrospect, Kotaro had been reckless.

Dr. Akaashi went missing two months ago. No body had shown up. His apartment had been completely cleaned out. He had vanished. There were no longer any records of a Keiji Akaashi ever existing. If his subordinates hadn’t met the man, he’d believe he might have hallucinated the past five years. At some point during the time spent with the man Kotaro had fallen in love. It was different from the way he felt about his wife.

He’d long since got over the fires of desire that had made her attractive to him. She was more like a partner. They shared a bed and were the perfect family and she was nothing but warm and loving and so perfect, but she was no longer what he needed. No longer what he wanted.

“I’ve given you enough time,” Shouyo Hinata, was a name known internationally in the underground world. He was a top tier assassin with no actual affiliations. Both him and his husband were known for their precision and though they were easily identified they’d never failed a job. Kotaro would know, he was friends with the man. Had been friends with him for almost ten years.

“She named him after you, huh?”

“I’m his dead uncle Kotaro,” the man took a sip of his glass and regarded Kotaro over the rim. “That’s a lot better than being named after the man your dad was fucking while married to your mom.”

Kotaro felt his shoulders relax as he chuckled. Shouyo had never really had a filter.

“That’s fair.”

“I have a meeting with Daichi in twenty minutes,” Shouyo glanced at his watch and then back to Kotaro. “Do you want to know how we’ve ended up here or not?”

“Please,” the word escaped Kotaro in a sigh.

Shouyo slid a simple manila envelope across the table and gestured to it with a tilt of his glass.

Kotaro snatched the envelope off the table and tore it open. A single sheet of white paper was enclosed, he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This was all very dramatic.

_To the love of my life,_

_Kotaro Bokuto when I met you, I could not decide whether or not I wanted to throttle you or point you in the direction of a good psychiatrist._

Kotaro had straightened in his seat. The letter was handwritten. He would recognize Keiji’s handwriting anywhere.

_This letter is only ever going to reach you after I no longer exist. Understand that I knew going into this exactly, what I was getting into. Please, do not let the guilt eat you alive._

_I am awarding you the opportunity to move on. To repent. To confess Kotaro. Your wife loves you more than maybe I ever have. You have two beautiful sons. Please raise them well._

_I do not regret a single day I have spent by your side, but it is time for me to move on. We cannot be more._

_Please forgive me._

_Take care of me Kotaro._

_Dr. Keiji Akaashi_

The cocking of a gun drew Kotaro’s attention away from the paper. Shouyo smiled at him in a way that made his skin crawl.

Kotaro Bokuto had imagined his death many, many, many times.

He found satisfaction knowing that he’d no longer have to imagine it.

“His name is actually Tooru Oikawa.”

_Bang_

_***********************_

“Do you think Shouyo has already killed him?”

“The shrimp definitely toyed with him for a little bit,” Tooru ran a single digit down her spine. He smiled fondly as goosebumps erupted in its wake.

“I’ll miss him Tooru,” there was no remorse in her voice. She didn’t regret it, but she could admit that Kotaro was a good man despite his lapse in judgement. “So will the boys.”

“They’ll be fine, I’ve been around long enough to know that they can handle anything,” Tooru pressed a kiss to her head. “Can you handle running Fukurodani by yourself, love?”

She propped herself up and regarded him with narrow eyes.

“Tooru I’ve been running Seijoh behind the scenes for years,” she slid her open palm down his chest. “While you’ve been off fucking my husband.”

“I guess it’s time to go home then,” she chuckled as he sighed. “Hajime is going to fucking kill me.”

“Just make it quick, you’re the only surviving heir Tooru, go home, get Seijoh back,” she tangled her fingers with his and he lifted them to his face and pecked them. “We’ll merge whenever you’re ready, but for now you can’t be here. I have to be a wife in mourning.”

Her cellphone pinged and she didn’t need to look at it to know it was Shouyo confirming the kill. She expected to feel something, anything at all that proved that she still loved Kotaro, but she felt nothing and maybe that was for the best.

“You know I’d do anything for you, right?” Tooru was staring at her like she hung the moon and the stars in the sky and if it were any other day, she would have gagged out loud, but today she felt the exact same way. “I’ll go home. Give me six months.”

“Done.”

“At some point we’re gonna have to talk about how you planned all of this Mrs. Bokuto.”

“At some point you’ll have to tell me where the real Keiji Akaashi is.”

“Nah.”

“Well guess what Tooru?” Tooru watched as she shifted and rose to her feet on the bed, she twirled slowly and gifted him a lopsided grin. “Same.”

**Author's Note:**

> What’s up? How y’all doing?


End file.
